


Winter Soulstice in the Windy City

by Hopelikehell



Category: Fall Out Boy, Mania AU - Fandom, Mania-verse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Backstory, Gen, Holidays, M/M, MANIA AU, friendship fic, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 12:05:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17141426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopelikehell/pseuds/Hopelikehell
Summary: It’s been a year since the defeat of The Big Bad, two years since Pete’s recovery, and Andy insists that Pete join him in the festivities. He doesn’t beg or plead. That’s not his style. He simply puts the idea in Pete’s head with a single sentence: “It’s a celebration of souls and I don’t know anyone who deserves to celebrate that more than you.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- I know Chicago isn’t Fuck City, but of course Andy would name the foundation that. (F.U.C.K. Stands for “Friends United in Compassion and Kindness”. Usually they go by their full name.  
> \- Keith is Keith Buckley from Every Time I Die. (If you read the early draft, for some reason I was thinking of Jeff Buckley. Not the same dude apparently.)
> 
> Check out Official Mania AU on tumblr to read the backstory and origins.

The Winter Soulstice is a holiday that mortals celebrate to show their appreciation of the people around them. It’s rooted in the tradition of giving gifts (offerings or blood promises) to the Ancient Beasts as thanks for the connection that mortals share with their own monsters. Pete has no connection to his Monster, and initially no connection to the rest of humanity. Even after he learned of the tradition, he typically stayed clear, insisting that he has other plans. 

“I’m not good at that gift stuff, you know that,” Pete argues. He doesn’t mention that he’s not great with money either. 

“I can help you out with managing that kind of stuff. The gift isn’t what matters, it’s the meaning behind the gift,” Andy counters. 

Typically Pete admires Andy for his headstrong determination, but he failed to see the importance in attending the event. He owes Andy a great deal though, and reluctantly agrees. 

**********

Patrick received a grant from a university overseas, along with a bonus package for the trouble of working during the holidays. He wanted to make the most out of the evening, so he invited a few colleagues and friends outside of their circle. Joe was always up for a party, so he didn’t really mind that their tiny apartment would be the hosting location. 

Pete is already tugging at the buttons on his collar and trying to loosen the tie around his neck as they reach Patrick and Joe’s apartment. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as the Gala outfit he was stuffed into, but anything that wasn’t cotton or denim felt unnatural on his skin. Clothing aside, he feels a mix of excitement and dread at the prospect of the party. His stomach settles a bit when Joe answers the door and only two others have arrived before him. He notices Patrick with a glass of wine in one hand while the other is gesticulating rapidly. He can’t help but stare at him in his black sweater and at how his hair fluffs out naturally, rather than hidden behind his usual layers and hats. 

Andy’s voice breaks through Pete’s thoughts. “You ready for your gift?”

“What?” Pete says. “You didn’t even bring anything with you.”

“I had them delivered here the day after Patrick sent the invitations,” Andy replies proudly. 

“Okay, what is it?”

“I was waiting for you to get back into the groove of things and finish your recovery training, but I was way too excited about this and you should get a feel for it before you join the team again,” Andy’s exuberance makes Pete feel slightly cautious. 

Andy presents Pete with a long wrapped item. As he tears away the paper and strings, he looks at the item with confusion. 

“My bat?” He asks Andy.

“Your NEW bat! The wood is just part of the design, but it’s a metal base. Aluminum really. But check it out! Sonic sensors indicate any change in the air frequencies, and there is a button on the hilt that makes it light up at the top to blind any opposition forces. Took me like two months to figure out a way for you to sense other monsters without being able to actually see them. Zell gave me the idea about echolocation and...” Andy continues to talk about the new features as Pete looks over the new bat. 

// _Pete watches the smaller humans play a game of hitting balls with sticks and running around in the sand. He’s sitting in the outfield pretending to read while he waits for his chance to snatch one of the tools. He has been looking for a better weapon to combat random gang members from coming into his small turf. It was only a few alleyways, but it was his. This stick might deter the younger ones from trashing the areas and keep any creeps at bay. But he had to get one first. As the boys run off to a snack truck, he saunters up to the fences. The first one he sees is a proper wood bat, clearly new and unused. He takes a few practices swings to get a feel for it in his hands. It comes almost naturally, as if it was always an extended part of him. He disappears quietly into the park, carrying his new accessory with pride._ //

When Pete looks at this bat, he feels the same connection he did all those years ago. He knows he can’t test it out in the apartment, but he can enjoy the feeling of wood against his skin. Near the handle he feels an imprint that spells out his name. It’s slightly heavier than usual, but it’s the right length and thickness. It isn’t until this moment that he realizes how much he missed this part of himself. 

He thanks Andy profusely and pulls a letter out of his blazer pocket. He says nothing as he gives it to Andy. 

“What’s this?” Andy asks as he tears open the envelope.

“Hopefully enough,” replies Pete.

“What do you mean?” Andy says as a piece of paper flutters out of the card. He bends over to pick it up and nearly drops it again after reading the text.

“Pay to the order of Andrew Hurley the amount of twelve million, five-hundred thousand dollars and eighty-three cents.” 

Pete’s name is signed at the bottom. 

“Where the fuck did you get this much money and why are you giving it to me?” Andy gasps.

Pete shrugs. “Working for Gabe. Random people. It’s for stagnated and inflation or whatever.”

“Stagnated what?”

“Inflation.”

// _Pete’s a nosey motherfucker, but not always by choice. He was working across the hall from where Andy was holding a meeting for the Fuck City Foundation members._

_“Just boring financials,” he tells Pete._

_It doesn’t sound very boring when he hears Andy shout not too long after the meeting begins._

_“According to the current projections for inflation next year, we’re going to have to significantly cut back on out of city rescue missions. Especially if our crowdsourcing continues to stagnate.” Pete recognizes the voice as Keith’s, one of Andy’s closest partners in the Network._

_“We overspent in the first quarter, but the pay-off should be apparent by next year,” Andy protests._

_“Come on Andy. We know you put significant resources towards Pete’s recovery, but we need results now. Not a year from now or even a month,” Keith continues._

_“We want to support you and the entire Network in its continued efforts to better our communities. We believe in the work that you do. But the costs are cutting into other projects and our balances need to be paid,” says a woman’s voice._

_“Gabe still runs the south side! How are we supposed to raise money with him lording over the various estates?”_

_“Why don’t you send in your pet project? They’ve got history, maybe he’ll nudge -“_

_“No,” Andy harshly cuts in. It’s a tone that he rarely uses, but it’s a tone that means business. “I’m not doing that again. Can we extend any plans past the new year?”_

_There is a long pause in the discussion. “You have until January 1st to find an additional funding source. After that we have to start sell off some assets,” Keith states. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, because we both know who would be buying.”_

_Pete asks Andy about the meeting when it adjourns. Andy shakes is head and mutters about “financial bull shit” and that Pete “shouldn’t worry about it”._ //

Andy is still dumbfounded, so Pete uncharacteristically pulls him into a hug. 

“You do good work Andy. You gotta keep doing good work,” Pete says. 

“I... I can’t just take all your money Pete,” Andy says.

“It’s not all of it. I only told the lady to take half of it out. She didn’t argue too much for some reason,” Pete grinned. 

“Thank you Pete. Seriously. You have no idea how much this is going to help the Network. I always knew that you would be an important investment, and an even better friend.” 

_”One down, two to go,”_ thought Pete. Andy was the easiest to talk to, the other two would be a bit more challenging.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I really wanted to delve into the more mysterious/superstitious side of Joe. There’s a lot we don’t know about his past, and I feel like his way of dealing with trauma is very similar to Pete’s. He dwells once in a while to himself, but puts on a brave face for everyone else. He doesn’t pretend it never happened, but he prefers to deal with any resurfacing or triggers by himself. Clearly Joe is my favorite and I plan on writing a more backgrounded series for him.

Joe and Pete had a contentious relationship from the start, although Joe generally remained cordial in his presence, if only for Patrick’s sake. Even after Pete woke from his coma and started to recover, Joe remained the most distant of the group. They had been doing better as of late, perhaps because they rarely saw each other.

To his surprise, Joe is nothing short of the good-natured person that Patrick sees every day. He’s clearly had a few drinks, but his personality isn’t altered because of it. Pete breaths a sigh of relief as Joe strolls up to him with a beer in hand and a genuine smile on his face.

“Pete! I had a feeling that was what Andy sent over here,” he says while motioning at the bat in Pete’s hands.

“Uh, yeah. Andy rigged it with a bunch of stuff that it probably doesn’t need, but as long as it can still put a dent in a car or skull, it’s works for me,” Pete replies. 

“Dope. Hey, of course I got you something too. I have no idea how it’s gonna work, but I thought it might be cool to find out.” Joe pulls out a gift card to a local tattoo shop. 

“So, I can put anything I want on me?” Pete asks hopefully.

“Yeah man! And anywhere! But it has to be cool,” Joe laughs. 

Pete looks down at the marks he was created with and remembers the first time he really looked at himself.

// _It was shortly after he escaped from the Howls that Pete bothered to look in a mirror. He made it to a truck stop about fourty miles outside of the city. There was an empty bathroom with a dingy light above him. He takes stock of his belongings: clothes, the ID card, and a few bits of bark to snack on. He rubs his eyes in exhaustion and tries to think of what normal living mortals looked like. Definitely not dirty. He takes out a bunch of paper towels from the dispenser and begins to wash off the dirt and brambles. Normally he wouldn’t care about his appearance, but he wasn’t taking any chances of sticking out in case he was being followed. It seems strange to see the skin he inhabited in a new way._

__

__

_Sure, some of his limbs were a bit lopsided, but everything matched up in its own way. Except for his arms. There are parts with pictures all over them. Initially, he thought they were nice to look at, even if he doesn’t really know what they mean. But they have no connection. It was as if TBB was only looking at the existence of shapes, rather than at the shapes themselves. Over time, it became one of the things that made him feel... not human. Not pretty to look at after all. He tells himself he’d be happier with two different sized arms as long as they looked cohesive. That wish doesn’t come true, but he eventually comes to terms with it._ //

“How so?”

“I mean, if it the ink takes, its gotta be as badass as you. Or if you want to get a god damn polar bear, that works too.” 

Pete isn’t sure what a polar bear is, but it sounds cool. The more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. If he could get bruises and scars and even weird ingrown hairs, why wouldn’t he be able to put colors and shapes of his choosing on his own skin? He supposes that Andy might want to test the theory before spending money on it, but considering that most of the Network have at least one tattoo, he doesn’t think that it would be a problem. 

“Dude, I’m stoked on it. We should talk to Andy first, but if it works, let’s do it up!” Pete says excitedly. “Does it hurt at all?”

“Probably much less than getting your arm ripped off and your entire being ripped out of your own body. Can’t speak from experience on that though,” Joe replies with a straight face. 

“Ha ha” Pete doesn't fully appreciate Joe’s humor, but can at least recognize that he’s sort of making fun of him in a nice way. Mostly. “Ummm, well this is for you,” he says while holding out a small gift bag. 

“Oooooo. What do we have here?” Joe takes out the carefully wrapped item out of the bag. It’s a mug that reads “World’s Best Cousin”.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Joe asks, almost as if he’s holding back a snarl. This was the Joe that Pete typically dealt with in the past. Personality switching on a dime when the situation arose. He’s very defensive, but by now Pete has realized that it comes from a place of compassion.

“No! I absolutely mean it!” Pete promises.

// _It seems like a lifetime ago that Pete was watching Joe and Patrick play a game of chess in the living room. He questions every move until Joe starts to complain about his commentary “ruining the integrity of the game”._

_Whatever integrity Joe had up until that point was lost only minutes later. A loud crash comes from the kitchen and causes Patrick and Joe to jump up in concern. Pete doesn’t see or sense anyone or anything else in the room, but he’s ready to fuck some shit up if he has to. Luckily he doesn’t have to. Unluckily, Joe curses to his monster anyway._

_“Fuuuuckkkkkk. Mooooooooshke! Come on buddy, I told you to keep it to the couch or my room! I even got you that tree trunk thing for you to use. The mug tree isn’t even a real tree! And now look - “ Joe actually chokes back a short sob as he gestured to the floor. His mug tree and all eight of his favorite coffee cups were lying in pieces on the kitchen floor._

_Patrick looks on sadly, staring at something Pete cannot see. Joe sits on the floor and opens his arms. He appears to be holding something and... soothing it?_

_“No no no, I’m not MAD. I’m just... bummed. Remember this?” He picks up a large chunk that reads “est cou”. “Its all we had left of her, Buddy, and - hey, can you guys give us a minute?” Joe redirects his attention to Pete and Patrick._

_“Yeah of course. I’ll grab some towels. Does he need anything for the-“ Patrick gestures at some imaginary item on his head._

_“Nah dude. Just, I gotta deal with this, you know.”_

_Patrick nods. They head to Patrick’s room and Pete is all questions the second the door is shut. He has a suspicion of what generally just happened, but needs a lot of clarification. Patrick does his best to explain that the physical state of Joe’s monster is currently changing. “It’s totally normal for this time of year. Champ looses a bunch of feathers, Zell starts growing geodes, and Mooshke’s antlers shed. Just growing and changing like humans do.”_

_“Okay but why is Joe so upset? Like he’s seriously about to cry. If has hasn’t already.”_

_“Well, his monster gets a little aggressive. It’s not a comfortable feeling to lose a part of yourself. He crashed into the mug tree and some of those mugs have some serious sentimental value to Joe. He says he lost his closest cousin to the Beasts of the Wild when they were kids. They snatched her up out of the dark and she was never seen again. Although their existence hasn’t been completely proven by science or research, Joe and his family believe in them. I guess one of those mugs was a gift. And sort of like how Mooshke is loosing his antlers, Joe just lost a small part of himself.” Patrick looks at the closed door sadly._

_“So, like, what are these Beasts? More monsters I can’t see?” Pete asks._

_“Supposedly they are, umm the remaining half of stolen souls. So, for example. If you decided to take my soul back to the Big Bad, my body would be dead, but Champ is strong enough on his own to exist without me. He’d have nothing to ground him though. The theory is that the monster would be completely lost and would try to find a replacement for the lost soul. But it’s impossible to fuse a vessel with a soul that has a monster already. So they irrationally take new souls. Kids usually. Some bonds with monsters aren’t as strong in kids. But they start the cycle all over again and that vessel ends up being kind of fucked up somehow.” Patrick shrugs. “Or at least that’s what the burbanites believe. Again, there is no proof that these Beasts exist, and especially not in the cities.”_

_“So like, my fam- my.. kind. They are the ones that made this happen. Supposedly,” Pete scrunches his face up in an illegible manner._

_“I mean, I guess so. Don’t take it so hard. You probably weren’t around if it did. And again, it’s possible that his cousin was just kidnapped or ran away. The burbs are completely different than here. We’ve got more natural dangers to deal with,” Patrick says._

_He gets the feeling that Patrick is trying to shield him in some way, but Pete can’t shake the guilt he feels for having some small part in ruining Joe’s life._ //

“You had nothing to do with what happened to her, but you feel like it’s all your fault. The whole would have, could have, should have thing, I get it,” Pete says slowly. 

Joe has his arms folded and an angry look on his face. His voice deepens, “Go on.”

“When the tree thing happened, Patrick told me about her, so I looked into it. It’s true. They do exist. The Beasts. Or did.” Pete closes his eyes, doing his best to remember things that weren’t his memories to begin with. 

“It happened before I was ever... spawned,” Pete hates using the technical terminology for his kind, but he was once one of them and they are past the point of lies about his existence. “But it was a brother or sister harvester that took the original soul. I found them and got as much information as I could. I wrote it all down. It’s in the cup! I just thought you’d want to know. And to not feel guilty anymore.”

Joe picks up the small book and pages through it. “More like make YOU not feel guilty anymore. Your handwriting sucks.” He makes a face, clearly squinting to make out some of the sentences. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this before now? That tree broke over a year ago.”

“Because I’m an asshole, because I got caught up in everything else. Because you absolutely hated me before, during, and after the Howls. Because you looked really fucking sad last week and I forgot until I remembered,” Pete says without looking away. “I’m sorry Joe.”

Joe stops at a specific page. “All of this is true?”

“As far as I know. We - THEY - didn’t have the capability to lie,” Pete points to his head. “Hive mind problems.” 

“Damn. This is the best and shittiest gift I’ve ever gotten,” Joe says after a few more moments. He’s crying, but also has the beginnings of a smile on his face. 

“Dude, thanks. Like seriously, I can’t even believe that someone outside of the burbs even believes me. Much less that it’s you, no offense,” Joe continues.

“We good then?” Pete asks.

Joe laughs and sniffles, “Oh yeah, we’re pretty damn good haha.”

 _”That probably could have gone better, but at least he’s happy,”_ thinks Pete. Even though he knows Patrick would appreciate anything from him, it’s his gift that he’s most anxious about. Patrick’s gift HAD to be perfect. Nothing less than that would be acceptable.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am such a sucker for softness with a hint of the edge. There is just something about Pete and Patrick’s connection in this specific AU that goes beyond being lovers, fuck buddies, or best friends. This is my favorite thing I’ve written in a while, so I really hope you enjoy it as well.

Pete has really never been able to do large group settings of people he doesn’t know. The Network meetings? Sure, if Andy can vouch for these people, that’s good enough for Peter. Sitting in bars and walking down the street? No problem, he’s his own weapon and has a spare if he needs it. But getting lunch by himself, going on the trains, and attending any formal event that he’s not attached at the hip to someone? He does his best to hide how much those situations suck for him. 

Patrick is a natural when it comes to social niceties. He makes for a perfect host, making sure to mingle with everyone for just the right amount of time, and filling up drinks when they get low. He can do small talk, but since these people are actually his friends, he’s got plenty more to say. So Pete waits patiently in the kitchen for Patrick to get a moment free from everyone. The small apartment is already filled to more than capacity should allow, but to Pete it feels like more people keep coming in. Someone crashes into the corner, probably from drinking and dancing, which is enough to put Pete over the edge. 

Pete starts to twist at the loose ends of his sleeves, pick at his nails, and wring his fingers. He’s literally cornered off from any chance of escaping the situation, so all he can do is fidget in silence and fight the waves of anxiety that crash into him with every second he’s stuck in the kitchen. He can’t really take much more of the over-stimulation and general buzz of ten conversations at once. It reminds him of before when he could hear everything any of his kind broadcasted, including the Big Bad. Pete shuts his eyes tight and tries to focus on just one voice - any voice at all - but the music is too loud and people are shouting and, and, and....

A hand with calloused fingertips and palms slips between his own fidgeting fingers. He’d recognize those fingertips anywhere and everywhere. He lets their owner lead him out of the crowd and down the hall towards Patrick’s room. The other’s hand lets go for only a moment to open the window to the fire escape, before reaching back to pull him outside. Pete lets out a long breath and takes a new one in just as deeply. All the while Patrick still holds on to Pete’s hands as they slowly begin to loosen up. 

“It looks like you needed some air,” Patrick says simply. “You gonna be okay?”

Pete does his best, which is also his worst, to brush off his failed attempt to keep it together. “Well what about you? Last time you were out here, you refused to hang out on the balcony.” Pete jumps on it for good measure.

He definitely sees a hint of a wince on Patrick’s face after he lands, but it’s more of an annoyance than anything. “Well at least one of us has a decent poker face.”

“I’m not concerned out of pity for you, Pete. I’m not trying to prove anything,” Patrick says. 

“I know, Patrick. You never have to prove anything,” Pete retorts with a sliver of irritation. It’s not directed towards Patrick, but rather at himself for not fitting some persona of a tough guy. 

Patrick raises his eyebrows as if to say, “Aren’t we past this?” Instead he reaches into his pockets and pulls out a small wrapped trinket. 

“What’s this?”

“You won’t know until you open it, dumbass,” Patrick responds with a bemused expression on his face. 

Pete unwraps the light tissue paper to find a pair of pastel woven insects. They look strangely familiar.

“Are these from -?”

“Your old jacket. They were the only salvageable parts. Everything else was, well, to be blunt, burnt, bloody, and broken. But for some reason a couple remained unscathed. I figure we could stitch them up to your new jacket, if you want to.” 

Pete stares at the last remaining relic of his past self. How many people’s blood had stained the jacket? How much of his sweat had it soaked up? How often did he have to restitch a hole or a tear? The jacket had been a part of his identity and persona. The day he found it was the day he found himself. And the best parts of it still managed to survive after all it had gone through. 

“You have no idea what this means to me,” Pete says quietly. “Or maybe you do cause of your visions. It doesn’t really matter.”

“You matter, Pete. For the record, I don’t know the full significance of the jacket. Maybe one day you can tell me that story,” Patrick says comfortingly. 

“Yeah, maybe one day we can exchange the oldest secret stories about ourselves. We’ve got a lot of time left to tell them.”

// _Despite everything they’ve been through together, Patrick still avoids talking about what exactly happened in the Howls. Pete understands; it was difficult for him to willingly bring up his own past traumas. Even with Andy._

__

__

_Pete does ask when he finally has enough strength to talk, but Patrick always brushes him off._

__

__

_“I’m still not sure. It was like a big blur. I don’t even know if I was doing anything at all.”_

__

__

_The question gets answered briefly by the others. Andy is straightforward with the basics, but he’s not sure about the technicalities. Joe is upfront and told Pete that he owed Patrick his life, which seems pretty obvious. Neither could get into the how or why._

__

__

_A few months later, Pete is still trying to process the events. Whenever Pete would ask about it, Patrick would get an exhausted look on his face, as if he was carrying the entire world on his shoulders. Pete hates seeing Patrick like that, so he stops asking the questions._

__

__

_Instead, he does his best to find solace in what he could remember and what he knew for certain. Andy suggests that he writes more of his thoughts and memories down, so he could always revisit them. Pete hopes he has enough paper to detail the images and emotions that stick out most clearly in his mind. He recalls the pain searing in his mind and body. He remembers how cold he felt when his vision and strength were fading. He remembers the sudden warmth of a purple glow, comforting and protecting him as best it could while simultaneously exploding his entire existence. For a moment there was nothing, and suddenly everything is Patrick._

__

__

_Except it’s not Patrick, it’s not even human. But the moment feels like when Pete is pretending to be asleep in his bed and Patrick chances a touch of his skin, or boldly reaches his arm across Pete’s chest possessively. It feels like every hard fuck and soft kiss they’ve ever shared. It feels like lightning striking twice and electrocuting his core. It’s definitely Patrick. It’s not even a body now, just a sense. But he’s there, and he’s there for Pete._

__

__

_The only thing he can remember after that moment and before the next is Patrick’s human face staring down at him anxiously. He says something that Pete can’t make out. He tries to hear it, to hold on, but the darkness takes Pete back to a time of no memories or dreams. Just nothingness until he wakes up in a white room all by himself._

__

__

“There is definitely one I’ve been dying to hear. It’s been stuck in my head for the last 13 months and I don’t know if it’s a dream or real, but it’s got a lot of holes. I’ll let you read it and tell me the missing parts,” Pete says. 

Patrick sighs, “Yeah, I suppose it’s been long enough now.”

“But not right now. That’s for another night. This,” Pete pulls a small brown box from his coat pocket and continues, “this is for now.”

Patrick opens the box to find another one, this time made of wood. He looks closely at it. There are vines around the entire thing, beautifully carved and detailed. The front reads, “City in a Garden” while the back has a small silver knob. He winds the knob as far as he can and slowly opens the lid. Out pops up an image of the skyline above the mechanics, and a small purple light shines below it, casting the skyline on Patrick’s face. A familiar song plays slowly.

Patrick hums along as he looks over the intricacy of the box and marvels at the craftsmanship. Pete smiles with satisfaction. 

“Did I ever tell you the story behind this song?” Patrick asks fondly.

“I hope you’re about to,” says Pete, hooking his fingers around Patrick’s once more. They sit with their legs hanging over the sketchy ladder, the music box safely on the windowsill. 

“It was first sung a very very long time ago by a bunch of guys who worked in the fields that only exist in the outskirts of town now. They reminisced about where they came from, how that place shaped them into the people they were. They passed it through a few generations until it reached the people who built the giant skyscrapers and bridges and trains. My granddad sang it to his wife and kids, and my dad sang it to me.” Patrick smiles, remembering himself as a child. “I used to get so bummed when my dad went to work. He traveled a lot, but when he was home, it was like everything was right in the world. I always made him sing the song to me before he left. And I’d sing it to him when he came back.”

Their own city glows in the moonlight. Patrick leans into Pete’s shoulder. The music box begins again and Patrick’s voice rings out in the quiet of the night. 

“Take me home, take me home. Where the streetlights light light up to take me home...”


End file.
